Growing up I probably felt the intense responsibility of fatherhood, and therefore never looked for it in my life. In fact, I had always planned on not being a father. That would mean PTA meetings, Boy Scout camp newspaper drives, signing parent permission slips, and really more stuff in my life that didn’t have to do with taking care of myself. Ok, admittedly I displayed definite selfish, if not narcissistic, tendencies. As I moved through my 20’s I maybe found a little more time to look outside of myself. I also always said that I was not the type of man to take a wife…and took her I did. Still, fatherhood seemed like more than I wanted to bear.
I had nephews and nieces that came along and lit up my life. I treated them as an uncle should whenever I saw them: I sugared them up and sent them home. My friends had kids, and they all told me that “it was like nothing that I have ever felt” to be a father. Sure, changing diapers and wiping strained peas off of a kid had to bring about many a tender moment. Somewhere along the line, though, I developed the urge to be a dad. I can pinpoint three such times when I nearly ditched my anti-daddy position and jumped over to the dark side: on my mission, working in the nursery, and standing in the middle of Walmart one day.
God has a sense of humor, and He here is a little joke which He liked to play on me: every time I found myself sent to a new area of work, the Branch Presidents (missionaries all of them) assigned me to the Primary orginazation. Yes, I had the assignment in developing branches of the church in the south west part of the Dominican Republic to look after the Primary. For those that don’t know, the Primary organization is basically Sunday School for kids from age 3 to 12. I always thought that God had me work this area because I am really just an overgrown 10-year-old, and I fit in quite nicely. I suspect now that He had it in His all-powerful mind to break down my wall. On Sundays I went to the room with the kids and we sang together about trees that grew popcorn, musically gifted waterways, and how Jesus wanted us to become sunbeams. We talked of Christ, we learned of his divine mission, and we all came to love him for what he did for us. When people grow their testimonies together, they come to love one another, and every time I received the call to move on to another town, it was with a heavy heart. I left little friends behind from Las Matas de Farfán to Santo Dominigo. Now those kids are all grown up, and they may not remember me from any other gringo that wore the black name tag in their towns, but I remember all of them.
Upon coming home and getting married, God continued His assault on my anti-parenthood stance: He kept calling me to work in the nurseries of every new ward that I attended. I got to share goldfish crackers, talk about being grateful for Jesus, and read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to many a little 1 1/2 to 3 year old child. I remember one such Sunday, at the end of the meetings when all but one parent had come to retrieve their child, I sat with little Sidney Barton reading about the caterpillar. Her daddy came in to get her, and she jumped up and ran to him. I sat on the floor, in the middle of the big story telling blanket and watched them leave. Then, she turned, ran back to me, and gave me a hug before leaving with her dad. I always called it the best calling ever…and I always will.
But the final assault, the attack that successfully breached my defenses, came quite unexpectedly in my mid 30’s. I was in the Walmart, moving from the food section to the electronics to browsePS2 games. I passed by the baby center and stopped to look at a dress for an infant girl. For some reason that moment struck me hard. I wanted to buy that dress for my daughter. I had no daughter to wear that dress. What had I done in squandering my youth away on myself, when deep down I had the makings of a family man? Was it too late to make up for lost time?
Wishing for fatherhood does not make it happen. Even though my wife and I had not taken measures beyond the first year of our marriage to keep from having children...no children had come to us. I did not worry overly much, but now the worry gene had activated. I had migrated from anti-fatherhood, to enjoying being around kids, to wishing for the blessing of daddy ship to come upon me. Hopefully it had not completely passed me by.
I had nephews and nieces that came along and lit up my life. I treated them as an uncle should whenever I saw them: I sugared them up and sent them home. My friends had kids, and they all told me that “it was like nothing that I have ever felt” to be a father. Sure, changing diapers and wiping strained peas off of a kid had to bring about many a tender moment. Somewhere along the line, though, I developed the urge to be a dad. I can pinpoint three such times when I nearly ditched my anti-daddy position and jumped over to the dark side: on my mission, working in the nursery, and standing in the middle of Walmart one day.
God has a sense of humor, and He here is a little joke which He liked to play on me: every time I found myself sent to a new area of work, the Branch Presidents (missionaries all of them) assigned me to the Primary orginazation. Yes, I had the assignment in developing branches of the church in the south west part of the Dominican Republic to look after the Primary. For those that don’t know, the Primary organization is basically Sunday School for kids from age 3 to 12. I always thought that God had me work this area because I am really just an overgrown 10-year-old, and I fit in quite nicely. I suspect now that He had it in His all-powerful mind to break down my wall. On Sundays I went to the room with the kids and we sang together about trees that grew popcorn, musically gifted waterways, and how Jesus wanted us to become sunbeams. We talked of Christ, we learned of his divine mission, and we all came to love him for what he did for us. When people grow their testimonies together, they come to love one another, and every time I received the call to move on to another town, it was with a heavy heart. I left little friends behind from Las Matas de Farfán to Santo Dominigo. Now those kids are all grown up, and they may not remember me from any other gringo that wore the black name tag in their towns, but I remember all of them.
Upon coming home and getting married, God continued His assault on my anti-parenthood stance: He kept calling me to work in the nurseries of every new ward that I attended. I got to share goldfish crackers, talk about being grateful for Jesus, and read The Very Hungry Caterpillar to many a little 1 1/2 to 3 year old child. I remember one such Sunday, at the end of the meetings when all but one parent had come to retrieve their child, I sat with little Sidney Barton reading about the caterpillar. Her daddy came in to get her, and she jumped up and ran to him. I sat on the floor, in the middle of the big story telling blanket and watched them leave. Then, she turned, ran back to me, and gave me a hug before leaving with her dad. I always called it the best calling ever…and I always will.
But the final assault, the attack that successfully breached my defenses, came quite unexpectedly in my mid 30’s. I was in the Walmart, moving from the food section to the electronics to browsePS2 games. I passed by the baby center and stopped to look at a dress for an infant girl. For some reason that moment struck me hard. I wanted to buy that dress for my daughter. I had no daughter to wear that dress. What had I done in squandering my youth away on myself, when deep down I had the makings of a family man? Was it too late to make up for lost time?
Wishing for fatherhood does not make it happen. Even though my wife and I had not taken measures beyond the first year of our marriage to keep from having children...no children had come to us. I did not worry overly much, but now the worry gene had activated. I had migrated from anti-fatherhood, to enjoying being around kids, to wishing for the blessing of daddy ship to come upon me. Hopefully it had not completely passed me by.
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